It Was Not All Lost
by Jillian1
Summary: My take on what could become of our two favorite FBI Agents when colonization begins. Short and sad, please review


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TITLE: It Was Not All Lost

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AUTHOR: Jillian 

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SPOILERS: The Truth

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TIMEFRAME: You'll figure it out...

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FEEDBACK: Yeah, I had to think of that for like.. A half a second! OF COURSE! Here at the site or to JILLIBEAN@aol.com

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ARCHIVE: If you'd like it, tell me so I feel special.

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RATING: G

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DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they, along with the X-Files, belong to Chris Carter, 1013, and FOX. I'm not making money off of them, and no infringement was intended.

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SUMMARY: My take on what could become of our two favorite FBI Agents when colonization begins. Short and sad, please review!

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AUTHORS **NOTES**: Okay, I like this one. I don't know why, but I do. It's sad and was nagging at my brain during my chemistry and math homework, and I simply could get nothing done until I got it out. I think part of the inspiration was a short story by Ray Bradbury, "There Will Come Soft Rains." It's about a world shattered by nuclear war and how technology outlives humanity... Anyway, as if Mr. Bradbury were to read this or something, thanks go to him for the inspiration. And to my teachers in chem and math for making my homework just that boring. ENJOY!

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The world woke up that morning to loud crashes, to screams, to fire. To pain. An unexpected, horrible fate. Unexpected by all but a small group of people... The only ones who would believe. The only ones who would listen.

The woman stared out her window, tears in her eyes. She looked out on the few homes nearby to her own... Containing the only people who were left. She cried for her family, her mother who had passed before having to see this. Her brothers who wouldn't listen to her "insane rantings"--those insane rantings that her partner filled her head with. The son she never knew, was never able to find, by her own wishes. The only ones who had survived were those they were able to persuade to follow them. To live with them in a small town, protected by magnetite quarries and the liquid form of the metal they had developed. 

She stepped away from the window, and looked up at her companion. Looking at her, he noticed how different she looked. Her eyes weren't the same striking blue, they were icy and cold, worn by the sands of time. Her hair was no longer as fiery, it was gray at the temples. She was aware that it was time to dye her roots, to cover the gray and try to hold on to the fire for just a little longer--but things like this didn't matter anymore. She would kill to be back in the times when things like that mattered. Besides, she couldn't get back that fire. It was gone, no bottle of dye could bring it back. 

He was no longer ambitious or young, the same gray threatening his hairline. He no longer had anything to search for, he had found the horrible truth years ago. Finally, that truth had found him. The truth that ten years ago his partner told him there was hope to stop. There WAS hope--they had it and held onto it. It was why they were alive, why the rest of the world was gone. If only they had believed, but who would? Who would listen to Mr. and Mrs. Spooky? His eyes had lost all that hers had, the wonder, the warmth. The used to hold a search but now they held seemingly nothing.

They were not the only ones left. There were the other Agents, the two they had met along the way, the ones who believed them from what they had seen. Others had followed, people they had known throughout the years; their boss, contacts, colleagues. Nobody else would listen besides the occasional UFO nut, who had obsessed over their work. The only ones left were the ones who had known all along. 

Dana Scully and Fox Mulder sat in the empty house. Nothing had been said that morning. Dana brushed her no longer vibrant hair from her face, as she looked into his no longer passionate eyes. What had they become? Pawns in the game of the universe? How they envied the dead, the blissfully ignorant. What good was this world anyway? What good was it to be left alone with Reyes and Doggett, with Skinner and Gibson? The only ones who would listen to them, the only ones who were convinced. They would never had believed except that they had *seen,* that they *knew.* What good was it when she was certain her son was gone, without knowing his parents? What good was it to be left on an earth without love and passion?

Yet when he looked into her eyes, somewhere, beneath the pain, the cold, underneath that frost covering, she saw love. She saw the passion she had always missed. And sometimes, when the light shone on her and she turned to face him, he could still make out those fiery red strands of hair, that fire that was *still* burning deep inside her. It was not all lost; somewhere, inside, the passion, the fire, it was still there.

They both felt it when their lips pressed together, they both felt it when they would lay in each others arms. The world around them was gone and they knew it--they dared not to pretend they were okay. They dared not to hide the truth from one another, because what would that do? Nothing. Nothing could be done anymore. They were in a world truly dead to them, sure, there friends remained, but so much had been lost. So much that they could have saved. 

"What happened to that hope?" He asked, his voice just as it was ten years earlier in a hotel room, and nine years earlier than that.

"I suppose it still exists, Mulder. I suppose between you and I, that hope never died."

He said nothing.

"We did all we could." She whispered.

"Yeah, I know." He replied.

Two people could not save the entire world. They had tried, but their hope could not be conveyed to many others. Who wants to believe in a grim future as they had? Why believe when you can brush it off as nonsense, and live in a world where the future does not exist, yet builds each day? The world they used to live in, when they cared about field reports and hair dye. All of the hope for the rest of humanity was gone.

Somewhere in the fire of her hair, in the search within his eyes, for them, hope still remained. It lingered in the deepest depths of their souls, in the caverns of their eyes and in the canyons of their hearts. And he held her in his arms that night and whispered words she wanted to hear, and she whispered them back. What seemed like fairy tales--the years before, the years when it was simple. And together they whispered and dreamt of that hope. 

They slept in one another's arms as all the world around them perished, and the night brought them into December 23, 2012.

*end*

Hey look, I'm still here, and I'm on my knees begging for feedback!!

Jillian


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